


A Glorious Day

by rabidchild67



Category: White Collar
Genre: Elizabeth Burke is Awesome, Freak Accident, Het, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 18:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was going to be a glorious day of fun in the sun, just the two of them. Then a freak accident nearly takes it all away. </p>
<p>This takes place post-anklet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Glorious Day

_BEEP-BEEP-BEEP_

“Oy.”

“Toooo eeeearly,” Elizabeth said, and turned over as Peter left their bed to snuggle up against Neal's chest. She pulled his arm over her, where it lay heavily. She sighed as she fell back to sleep. Peter very much wanted to crawl back into the bed and be with them, but he needed to get up now if he was ever going to make it to his breakfast meeting.

He padded across the dark room towards the bathroom, not caring that he was naked; the terrace doors of the cottage they’d been given were thrown open to let the sea breezes in. Beyond the doors was a patio that led out to a private beach, and none of the resort’s staff would be out and about this early. As he waited for the shower to warm up, he reflected on his reasons for being there and paused, wondering if this reboot of their lives was the right thing for them.

He was in Hawaii to interview that morning with Jan Vos, the CEO of Vos Properties, who ran five star vacation resorts all over the world. Vos was looking for a chief of security, and when asked for a recommendation for candidates, Sara Ellis had immediately sent him to Peter. Peter was flattered by the offer, of course, but it was still up in the air if any of them would be willing to leave New York behind to live in paradise. Vos had flown the Burkes and Neal first class to his resort in Oahu for an all-expenses paid mini-vacation so that Peter could interview with Vos, who made his home there.

Peter got into the shower and made quick work of it, then stood in front of the bathroom mirror to shave. He was eager to get the meeting over with – he hoped it’d be the only thing between him and five more days of R&R that they all needed. He dressed quietly in his favorite suit – favored because Neal had helped him pick it out – and glanced over at the bed, where his lovers lay in the same position he’d left them in, arms and legs entwined, the top of El’s bare behind only just visible. He walked over and just looked down on them, overcome with feelings of love and affection and wondering at the big changes their lives were about to experience. He thought he could be ready – could they?

 

When he leaned over and pressed kisses to both of their temples, El murmured sleepy goodbyes to him as she snuggled closer to Neal. His paradise was with these two, Peter thought fondly, and the location didn’t really matter much to him, as long as it never ended. He had a smile on his face as he left the room.

\----

“Good morning… I’m here to meet with Mr. Vos?”

Peter didn’t quite know what to make of the expansive penthouse the elevator had deposited him in; it seemed to take up the entire top two floors of the hotel that made up the bulk of the resort property they were staying in, and the views it afforded of the ocean were breathtaking, but he felt like it was all unreal, somehow. With all the plants and trees (and holy shit, were those _parrots_ flying around?), it all seemed like the inside of some over-the-top Las Vegas theme casino. 

Vos’ assistant had a desk in what he thought of as the lobby, and she flashed him a wide smile. “Ah, Mr. Burke, welcome. I’m Cecile.” He shook her proffered hand. “Jan’s not been able to stop talking about you.”

“Hasn’t he?” Peter couldn’t think why – they had only spoken for twenty minutes over the phone three weeks prior to his coming here. 

“He’s so excited to finally meet. Will you come with me?” 

He was led to a sitting area with comfortable white couches (and no visible bird droppings, which was a relief), and was instructed to take a seat. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Fresh pineapple juice?”

“Juice would be great.” Peter could not get enough of the fruit since they’d arrived the day before – it just tasted so much better here than the stuff they got at home in New York. Cecile smiled and moved off, and Peter took a seat facing the room rather than the windows, a trick Neal had advised him of years ago that he always used – if you face a window on a sunny day, you will be forced to squint when addressing the person sitting across from you, and will therefore look less trustworthy. Sure, he wouldn’t be able to look out on that tremendous vista, but then again, he wouldn’t be distracted by it either.

“Peter, welcome,” came a voice to his right, and he turned his head to find Vos walking up to him with his glass of pineapple juice. 

“Jan,” Peter said, rising. Vos set the glass down on the coffee table in front to Peter and reached out his hand. As Peter shook it, he was impressed by its firmness, as well as the man in front of him. Vos wore a well-cut linen suit with a crisp white shirt that was open at the neck; he was tan, his blond hair flecked with grey, and his dark blue eyes sparkled when he smiled. 

“I’m so pleased you could make it so early today. I know you must be jet-lagged,” he said in his light Dutch accent. 

“I’m a morning person,” Peter lied effortlessly and smiled as he thought of Neal scolding him for it.

“Good, good.” Vos indicated that Peter should sit, and he did. Peter reached into his briefcase for a copy of his resume, and Vos waved his hand “I know what is on your resume, Peter, and I know what’s not on it.” At Peter’s alarmed look, he laughed good-naturedly. “You should relax, for you have nothing to be concerned about.”

“Except for the invasion of privacy?” Peter said, his tone friendly, but with just enough strength in it to let Vos know he was annoyed.

“When you’re in this business, you need to know that your people are trustworthy,” Vos said. “Loyalty comes in time, but without trust, a relationship is meaningless, wouldn’t you say?” 

Peter shrugged. “Of course.”

“I like to know everything about my business partners, to know that they will be unimpeachable, imperturbable. You are such a man, I think, despite your chosen lifestyle.”

“I am not sure what you’re referring to.” Peter felt uneasy with this conversation; he had nothing in his life to be ashamed of, but he feared his involvement with Neal might be a sticking point here.

“Do you not?” He laughed. “I like you, Burke, you’re a terrible liar. Your personal life and relationships are meaningless to me. It’s your honor that interests me, your integrity.” He picked up a piece of paper. “A man doesn’t close 94% of his cases at the FBI without these.”

“I suppose not.” Peter couldn’t resist feeling proud of his record. “It seems like you know everything there is to know about me. Why am I interviewing then?”

If anything, Vos’ smile became wider. “Oh, the job is yours if you want it, Peter. We’re here so I can convince you to accept it.”

xXxXxXxXx

El turned over onto her back and opened her eyes; they landed on the ceiling fan hanging above, turning lazily as it churned the cool air down onto her skin. She sighed contentedly and then glanced at the bedside clock – 7:30 – Peter had been gone over an hour. She glanced down at Neal's arm, still resting across her body. Picking up his hand, she brought it to her face and nuzzled against its warmth. He flexed it as he came awake, the lax appendage now caressing her cheek. When she turned her head to look at him, he was already smiling at her.

“Good morning,” he said, voice deep and scratchy from sleep. “I guess Peter’s already gone.”

“Mm-hmm. He left at the ass-crack of dawn for the interview.” She came up on her elbow to hover over him and kiss him; he rolled over onto his back to accommodate, opening his legs as she settled on top of him. 

“Too bad for him he couldn’t hang out,” Neal observed, as he took her face between his hands and kissed her lightly. “He’ll be missing out on all our fun.”

“We’ll catch him up later,” she murmured against his mouth, and adjusted the angle of her head as she continued kissing him. She threaded her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his smooth forehead with rhythmic strokes as they kissed. He brushed her lips softly with his tongue and she opened her lips wider to accommodate it, sucking on it lightly. 

“Mmmm,” he moaned into her mouth, responding to her hands in his hair; it always made him purr like a cat. She moved her mouth away from his and kissed a trail along the left side of his jaw; he flinched away, ticklish, so she stopped, turning her attention instead to his neck and chest, planting a line of soft, sensual kisses down and down. By the time she’d made it to his right nipple, she could feel his cock was half-hard between them. She shifted to the side a bit, working her hand down to take hold of the column of flesh as she sucked his nipple to a full, cherry-red hardness. 

“Elizabeth!” he hissed as she raked it with her bottom teeth, arching his back up for more; she smiled as his hand came up to tangle in her hair. After another minute, she stopped what she was doing and pushed herself up on her knees, straddling his thighs, the sheet falling away to pool around their entwined legs. Looking down, she saw his massive erection standing out proudly from his body; she looked at his face and saw him regarding her with hooded eyes, face half turned away. She leaned forward and kissed him, made him look fully at her. 

“I want to watch you watching me,” she said huskily into his right ear, nibbled at the lobe lightly and then got back up on her knees. She brushed the moist heat of her sex against his dick and he moaned and bucked his hips up slightly. Grinning, she leaned back down and went back to kissing him, her hands splayed on his chest. 

“I love you, I love you so much,” he moaned. She began to rock her hips against his cock, feeling its smooth heat between her thighs. “Christ,” he breathed into her mouth and she smiled. “I can’t take much more of this.”

“Who says you have to?”

He gestured toward the nightstand. “Let me just grab a condom.”

She shook her head. “Let’s live a little.” His eyes widened – it had been a long time since they’d all been tested and proven clean, but El was not on the pill and they always used condoms.

“Saucy.”

“We’re on vacation.”

She smiled and, leaning forward, reached down between them, took hold of his cock, and guided it to her opening. She rocked back gently, taking her time as he gradually filled her. “Mmm,” she purred, closing her eyes and taking the time to feel every inch of his cock inside her. 

“God, I love you,” he whispered, and she opened her eyes and smiled her crooked smile, the one she knew drove both her men wild, and looked down on him again. His blue eyes had darkened with desire, his pupils impossibly large, as he reached for her breasts. She arched her back as he rolled her nipples between his fingers, then she began to move on top of him, her hips setting a slow rhythm. Eventually, she rested her hands on his chest and leaned forward, deepening the penetration, and moved a little faster. He raised his head to meet her, pressed his mouth against her throat and sucked a mark there. 

Impatient with the pace she was setting, Neal laid back and settled his hands on her hips then began to fuck up into her. She moaned and leaned over him, hands on either side of his head as she kissed him around his face as he thrust faster and faster. 

“El, I’m gonna…” he said at length, mindful that he was not wearing a condom.

“Do it,” she breathed, deciding she didn’t care, “come inside me. I want all of you, Neal, all.” She pressed her hips forward as he fucked up into her, increasing the friction on her clit and moaning his name. He stilled as he came, his cock thrust deep inside her, and she arched her back and sat up on top of him, tightening her muscles as she felt the hot rush inside her. Fitting the fingers of her right hand down against her clit, she rubbed herself to her own climax seconds later, breath hitching as it hit, body quivering, all sound whited out by the intense pleasure.

When she came back to herself, she bent down and kissed him, again stroking back the hair from his sweaty brow. His arms came up to encircle her back and he twisted them around until he was on top; his softening cock slipping from her body was always a slight disappointment, but he more than made up for it with soft kisses he trailed up and down her face and throat.

“That was some morning workout,” he said at length, and she laughed as he settled beside her. 

They lay together, arms and legs entwined and breathing each other’s air. “I meant what I said before, I love you both so much,” Neal said.

“I know, sweetie,” she answered, nuzzling her nose against his cheek. 

“Enough for a lifetime,” he said quietly. 

She stilled and got up on an elbow slightly. “Neal, does that mean what I think –“ He was about to say yes when she placed her fingers over his lips. “Hold that thought,” she said, sitting up, “until you can say it to both Peter and me. OK?”

He nodded and smiled, and the mood was broken by the sound of a soft chime from her cell phone. She reached behind her to grab it.“Text from Peter – the interview’s going long and he says he’ll be a while.” 

“See if he wants to meet us for lunch,” Neal suggested. “I want to talk to you both as soon as I can.”

Elizabeth smiled at him and felt a surge of love in her heart as she sent the message. “He says that’s great – how’s 1:00 down by the pool?” 

“Sure.”

“It’s settled then,” El said, sending the final message. “So what should we do in the meantime?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Neal smiled.

\----

“Snorkeling was not my idea of a fun morning’s distraction,” Elizabeth pointed out to Neal. “I was thinking more along the lines of a couples’ massage.”

“Aw, come on,” he wheedled as they made their way to the boat rental’s shack. “You know Peter hates to swim, so this’ll be my only chance.”

Well, when he pouted so prettily, how could El refuse? “Fine, just don’t make me steer the ship or the boat or whatever – I’m hopeless at that stuff.”

“Luckily, I am not. Remind me to tell you about the summer I crewed as a Maintrimmer in the America’s Cup.”

“You never ever.”

He smiled. “That was a great time. And huh, come to think of it, that was an alias of mine that never got burned…”

“Don’t even joke about stuff like that,” she said as they opened the door and entered the tiny building.

“I promise,” he said, leaning forward to kiss the tip of her nose. Then he frowned. “Did you pack the sunscreen? I’d hate to see that nose freckle.”

“I don’t think _I’m_ the one at risk here, Mister,” she said, caressing the side of his face and recalling the last time they’d vacationed and Neal had gotten so badly sunburned the first day he’d had to spend the next three days indoors; it matter – they’d found plenty of other things to keep them occupied, as well as creative ways to apply aloe vera gel. “You gonna use it this time?”

“Without a doubt,” he said ruefully and then turned to talk with the rental person.

“Ahoy dere, maties,” the man, whose name badge read, “Bob” said in a broad, Midwestern accent. Someone was far from home, El observed, taking in the straw hat and bright yellow Hawaiian shirt. 

“We reserved a boat to go snorkeling – name’s Caffrey?”

“Oh yeah, you’ve come to the right place.” Bob opened a drawer behind the counter and brought out a price list to discuss options with them. Once they had agreed on the type of boat and other details, there were some forms and releases to be completed. 

As she waited for Neal to fill them out, El began to idly tap the band of her wedding ring against the countertop, a common habit that tended to drive Peter insane. Bob’s eyes took in her wedding ring, then glanced at Neal's hands and saw that he clearly wore none. She caught his eye and smiled and he looked back to Neal self-consciously. 

“Have you folks snorkeled before?”

“I have a few times,” El answered. “The first time was on my honeymoon. But you know, my husband didn’t care for it.”

Neal gave her a strange look and she raised an eyebrow, a playful gleam in her eye. “Oh yeah, her husband’s not much of a swimmer,” Neal said, catching on.

“Uh-huh,” Bob said, and it was all El could do to suppress her amusement at the man’s knowing leer. “Anything else your husband fall short on, ma’am?”

El mimed thinking about it. “Mmmm… nope, nope.”

“He’s an FBI agent, you see, so he’s pretty much good at everything else,” Neal offered. Bob’s eyes widened. “Like shooting people. Yeah, he’s a crack shot.”

“It’s why we came all the way out here, actually,” El added. “Cuz he’s an FBI agent.” Technically true – Peter wouldn’t be interviewing for a job if not for his reputation as a top agent.

“Oh? Oh yeah?” Bob said, clearly concerned that El’s jealous husband might break the doors down at any second and arrest everyone in sight.

“But don’t worry, he won’t come ‘round here,” Neal said in his best purposely insincere tone. “He doesn’t even know where we are.”

There followed an uncomfortable silence during which El had to turn around lest she laugh out loud at the comically freaked-out expression on Bob’s face.

“So, snorkeling!” Neal said loudly, causing Bob to jump. “Can you recommend any quiet spots?”

“Sure thing,” Bob said, clearly relieved to get the conversation back onto familiar ground. “How quiet we talking?”

\----

El stood leaning back against Neal, his arms tightly around her as he steered the twin-engine catamaran they’d rented, enjoying the calm water and cloudless sky. 

“God, it’s so beautiful here. If Peter gets this job, do you really think they’d move us here?” She tried to keep the longing out of her voice – the job was no foregone conclusion. Neal leaned forward and rested his chin atop her head, uttering a non-committal grunt. “What?” she said, sensing his unease.

“We’re awfully far away from New York.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t want to come now?”

“I’m saying it’s a long way from all your family and friends. Look, I’m used to pulling up stakes all the time, you know? It’s easier for me.”

“Easy?” She tried to keep the hurt tone out of her voice and failed. Neal's absence from their lives when he’d fled to Cape Verde still hurt.

“You know what I mean.”

“I kind of don’t, Neal.”

He cut the engines back so he could talk uninterrupted, and sitting back in the captain’s chair, made her turn to face him with his hands on her hips. “When you’ve lived the kind of life I used to, you would have to be willing to move on at a moment’s notice. You never knew where your next job might be or worse, whether the cops could be onto you. You kind of develop this sense of never really attaching to any one place or thing. I guess I never really got over it.” 

“Sounds hard.”

“It’s not, not really – it’s just a way of being. It’s not the same with people, you know.”

She looked down at her feet. “I know.”

“Do you?” He squeezed her hips lightly and bent forward so that she was forced to look at him. “I meant what I said before, Elizabeth, I will love you both for the rest of my life. Do you believe that?”

The fear in his eyes that she didn’t trust in him was something she could not bear to see, and so she kissed him. “I do. And we will talk no more of it, not until we can be with Peter – deal?”

“Deal.”

\----

Thirty minutes later, the on-board GPS navigation system told them they’d arrived at the spot Bob had told them about, and Neal cut the engine and stripped off his golf shirt. 

“God, look at you,” El marveled, shaking her head. “Am I the luckiest girl in the world or what?”

“Or what?” he said with a smile, pulling out the gear he’d stowed away when they’d left. He handed her her mask and swim fins and she made a face. “Pink? Really?”

He shrugged. “It’s what Bob had in stock. I’d trade, but I don’t think my big feet’ll fit in those.”

“I like your big feet,” she teased, unwrapping the simple sundress she’d thrown on over her swimsuit. “You know what they say about men with big feet?”

He stepped up to her and pulled her into his arms. “What do they say?”

“They wear large shoes,” she answered. 

He laughed lightly, and helped her don her gear. When they were prepared, they sat on the low back of the boat, dangling their feet in the water, which was so crystal clear, Elizabeth could see to the bottom, and the reef that lay beyond. She took a moment, marveling at the beauty and immensity of it.

“Elizabeth? You ready?” She felt Neal's hand, warm and steady on her back. 

She startled but quickly recovered, smiling up at him. “Can’t wait. Here we come, fishies!” she slipped into the warm Pacific waters and let them close over her head.

xXxXxXxXx

“Welcome to our NOC, Mr. Burke.”

Peter looked up to find himself in a vast, glittering room that held more state of the art technology than he thought existed in perhaps the entire FBI New York field office. He felt like he was on the deck of the USS Enterprise and wondered if he’d find any Vulcans anywhere.

“Most impressive,” he said to his companion Isobel, because he meant it. The young woman, a security analyst, had been asked to take him on a tour of Vos Properties’ corporate HQ in Honolulu and while he wouldn’t be in charge of this particular operation – that would fall under the IT department – he would be responsible for maintaining its network security, as well as the physical security at each and every one of the 70-odd resorts Vos owned and operated around the world.

As they walked, they chatted about protocols and procedures in a broad way – Isobel wasn’t going to reveal much, and Peter approved of that. He already could name a dozen things he thought they could improve on, things he’d seen both at the agency and on cases that he thought would work well here. He smiled slightly to himself, realizing he was already picturing himself here.

“And here is our pride and joy,” Isobel said, leading him through a door onto the terraced roof of the building. It had been turned into a vast garden, with paths and seating areas throughout.

“Mr. Vos sure does like his natural settings,” Peter observed.

“When you live in paradise, you want it with you always,” Vos said from behind them. “You should see my ranch on Maui. I’ll take you there sometime.”

Peter smiled. “I would like that.”

Isobel took her leave and Vos indicated a nearby seating area. He poured some water for them both and handed a glass to Peter. They sat in companionable silence for several minutes before Peter spoke, feeling he should fill it. “How do you like living here?”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Peter thought of the two loves in his life and smiled. With Elizabeth, he had indeed fallen from the minute he met her; with Neal, it was an undeniable attraction to the man’s intellect and personality that had blossomed over years into love, but he loved him as much as his wife. “I believe it can happen,” Peter admitted.

“I fell in love with the islands the first time I laid eyes on them – skinny, 16-yr old kid that I was. I resolved to someday live here, and now I do. I may not have been born here, but I belong here. Do you know what I mean?”

Peter wondered at the tack of this conversation, but understood the sentiment. “I do.”

“Where do you belong?”

Peter once again thought of his wife and his lover and smiled fondly. “Ah, my home is where my heart is,” he answered with a twinkle in his eye.

xXxXxXxXx

Elizabeth swam behind Neal, her eyes on him more than the beauties of the reef surrounding them. As always, she was in awe, the long lines of him as he moved, his vitality as his legs pumped lazily; simply put, he was beautiful. Reaching the limits of her lungs on this particular dive, she let herself float to the surface, treading water for a moment before he came up right behind her. Their boat, she noticed, had drifted a bit, but that was to be expected since they couldn’t drop an anchor here.

“Wow, this has been amazing. Thanks for coming with me,” Neal said. His eyes were comically enlarged by his mask, reminding her of those greeting cards with Photoshopped dogs in comical poses. She imagined hers looked the same. 

“I’m glad I did – Peter would’ve been useless to you.” Her voice sounded strangely nasal to her ears, thanks to the mask.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing. How’re you doing? Tiring out?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. How much longer until we should head back, do you think?”

“That depends – do you want to shower first or just go straight to lunch?”

“Shower first, for sure.”

“Maybe twenty minutes, then,” he said. “Ready for another go-round?” 

Elizabeth nodded and he doze under the water yet again. She followed him along for a time, as they skimmed the surface. In contrast to her other times snorkeling, she was amazed at how plentiful the fish were here, how unfazed they were by their presence. She thought they must have grown used to tourists gawking at them all the time. Something shadowy caught her eye and she turned her head. Below them, scudding lazily along the sandy bottom, she saw a very large stingray, undoubtedly searching for his breakfast. Tugging Neal’s hand, she pointed at it. It was huge, more than six feet across, and she suddenly realized how immense the ocean was in its diversity. She felt so privileged to be here, yet insignificant. 

Neal tugged on her hand, gesturing; it was clear he meant to get closer to it. El shook her head, content to just observe. Neal took a deep breath and dove, swimming along with the animal, which was as uninterested in Neal as it could be. Neal rose to the surface to get more air then returned, swimming even closer to the animal. El saw him reach out a hand to pet its body; astonishingly, it showed no reaction that it even felt him there. 

El looked around them, wondering what else she might see, and in the distance, another shadow caught her eye. As it got closer, she felt her stomach drop when she realized it was a shark. Bob had warned them to be on the lookout, but not to worry – the sharks this close to the islands were used to seeing people, and tended to give a wide berth. It didn’t make her feel any less concerned, though. 

She turned, tried to wave at Neal to get his attention, but he was still swimming along with the ray. Suddenly, the ray seemed to sense there was a predator in the area, and, panicking, it turned its large body in a surprisingly tight curve, thrashing its tail about in an effort to get away quickly. There was a cloud of sand kicked up by its movements, and for a few seconds, Neal was completely obscured. El tried to find him, to wave for him to come back, but she couldn’t see him in the cloud of sand, didn’t know if he could see her.

The billow of blood that rose from where she last saw him made her freeze and nearly sink.

_Neal!_

She watched, horrified, as he finally began to rise from the cloud of sand. He had somehow lost his mouthpiece, and was nearly doubled over, clutching at his right leg. Elizabeth swam toward him as fast as she could, and when she got closer, she could see the source of the blood. A dark spike was embedded in Neal's thigh, protruding nearly six inches from the torn muscles; Neal must have been stung by the ray when it turned to swim away.

_The shark._

It wasn’t as if El had forgotten about it, but she didn’t think Neal had seen it, and with blood now in the water, the need to get him to the boat put a desperate fear in her chest.

Reaching out, she grabbed Neal's elbow, tugging him up to the surface. The sound he made as he took a breath sounded like he was being tortured. He screamed and then his head sank beneath the water again. Desperate, El grabbed the first thing she could get her hand on – his hair – and yanked him back to the surface. He screamed again, nearly incoherent, struggling against her in his attempt to clutch at the wound.

“Neal, please, we need to get you out of here,” she said. He didn’t seem to hear or understand. She slipped her hand under his armpit and began to try to swim towards the boat, which was thankfully not as far away as it had been before. Sobbing with the effort, she twisted around again, grabbing at him to try to turn him over. She knew her desperately grasping fingers would be bruising him, but she didn’t care. 

Something in him seemed to recognize that she was trying to help, so he calmed somewhat, let his body go limp. Fumbling beneath him, she pulled his face mask off and discarded it so he could breathe easier, then lost her own. Slipping her arm around his shoulders, she began a slow and agonizing sidestroke, panting desperately as she pulled him along, fearful of a shark strike at any second. 

At last, she got him to the boat and she paused, holding on to the rope that trailed off the back to catch her breath. Casting her eyes desperately around, she thought she saw a dorsal fin cutting through the water some ways off and barely contained a scream.

“Neal,” she said, her voice strained; she knew what she must do, but she needed his cooperation. He groaned but said nothing. “Honey, I need to get into the boat so I can pull you in. I’m going to let go of you.” She tried to get him to lift his arm, to grab onto the rope. “Hang on, Neal. Can you hang on to the rope?” She knew she sounded frantic, that she was shouting, but it did at least seem to penetrate his pain-addled brain. He nodded and she threaded the rope around his hand. 

When she let go, he sank immediately. She dove after and caught him by the wrist, bringing him, spluttering, back to the surface. “Honey, you have to focus, please. I can’t do this by myself. Please hang on, please.”

“El,” he moaned, his first words since they surfaced. “Help. Help me.”

“I’m trying, honey, I am,” she said as she took the rope and wound it as many times as she could around his wrist. Then she hauled herself out of the water and onto the boat, her movements clumsy and graceless, wet limbs slipping on the pristine white fiberglass, but at least she was on board. Panting, knowing she couldn’t spare a second to rest before doing what she must, she kicked off her swim fins and scrambled over to Neal. He clung desperately to the rope, forehead resting on his hands and moaning unintelligibly. 

She laid a hand on top of his head. “Neal, you have to turn around.” There was no way she could get him into the boat if he was facing her – he could very likely push the ray’s barb further into his thigh or else break or pull it out, and neither was something she wanted to think about. “Can you face away from me?”

He nodded and twisted around. Getting up on her feet, she thanked whatever instinct she’d had that made her wear rubber-soled surf shoes today, and crouched down at the edge of the boat. Bending forward, she pushed her hands beneath Neal's armpits, making fists of them for better leverage. Taking the hint, he hugged his arms around hers as she braced herself. Finally, pushing with her legs as hard as she could, she heaved backwards, letting the momentum and their combined weights propel them. She heard Neal cry out as his bare back scraped against the edge of the boat, but at last he was out of the water. They lay there panting for a full minute, Neal sprawled on top of her, until the trembling in his body spurred her to action and Elizabeth slid out from under him. 

She knelt beside him and looked down. The wound was more horrific than she could have imagined; it protruded from the center of his thigh, angled towards his groin. She could see its impression just beneath the skin before it disappeared into deeper muscle. It was bleeding heavily, deep red rivulets of it flowing freely, but thankfully not gushing, and so she hoped it had not severed any major blood vessels. 

Neal curled his body up, suddenly, wanting to hold onto his leg, knowing instinctively he should not. His hands hovered above the stinger, trembling. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered, giving up finally and letting his head drop to the floor of the boat and panting.

“I know, honey, I know,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and hoping she succeeded. 

Casting about the boat, she looked for something – anything – to staunch the bleeding. Spotting the golf shirt Neal had been wearing, she scrambled to retrieve it and her bag from the bench seats at the front of the catamaran. Kneeling back beside Neal, she folded it up and pressed it lightly against the wound. Neal flinched and gritted his teeth.

“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, but she was afraid to press too hard lest she shift the spike and cause more damage. She was no doctor, but she was fairly certain of the human anatomy charts she’d studied when she’d taken a first aid course in college; she knew where the femoral artery was, and the fact it didn’t seem to have been damaged seemed like a minor miracle. “Neal, I think we’re going to need a tourniquet for this – I’m afraid of shifting that thing.”

He had the heels of his hands covering his eyes now, balled into fists as he shook from the intense pain she knew he was feeling. She saw him nod. Getting up again, she sidestepped the rapidly growing pool of blood in the bottom of the boat and went back for her sundress. $250 at _Anthropologie_ had never been so well-spent, she thought irrationally. 

She settled down beside Neal and, hauling her bag into her lap, she removed the small leather pouch in which she kept a mini pharmacy of painkillers, antacid and allergy meds – and that Peter continually mocked her for – and pulled out a small pair of nail scissors. Starting at the hem of the dress, she made a small cut in the delicate muslin and then pulled a wide strip off. Using Neal's golf shirt as padding, she wrapped the strip of muslin once around Neal's upper thigh, above his wound, and tied it off. She then returned to her bag for the hairbrush that was there, and laid it atop the knot with shaking fingers, tying it off again. She took a deep breath and looked at Neal.

“Honey?” She pulled his hands away from his face and when he opened his eyes to look at her, they filled with tears. “I’m ready to do this now, and I’m sorry, but it’s going to hurt. A lot.” He nodded his understanding. “I want you to know that you have my permission to pass out.” 

He nodded again, and she saw the muscles in his jaw working as he gritted his teeth. 

“Here we go,” she whispered, twisting the brush once, then again, watching as the fabric pulled taut. Neal screamed, his entire body tensing, his fists beating against the deck beneath him. 

She twisted it again, and again, the going harder as she did. Another scream was torn from Neal's throat.

“Please pass out, please pass out, please pass out,” Elizabeth whispered as she turned the brush twice more. She was relieved when he actually did, his body going limp. 

She paused what she was doing to see if the bleeding had slowed. After several seconds, she was satisfied that it had, so she sat back on her heels and took a minute to just breathe.

The puking over the side of the boat she chalked up to too much adrenaline.

xXxXxXxXx

“So what do you think Peter? Have you liked what you’ve seen?”

“I have.” Peter said, surprised to realize he meant it. He and Vos were walking through the atrium of Vos Properties’ headquarters, and he could feel the sun warming the back of his neck. He could get used to this, and Vos had certainly given him the hard sell; the salary he was offering effectively tripled Peter’s current one, and he’d be expected to travel to resorts all over the world to implement state-of-the-art security systems and protocols – what more could a control freak like him ask for? “I just have to discuss it with my family.”

“Ah yes, the lovely Elizabeth. Do you think she could make a life here, leave behind the hustle and bustle of New York?”

“Like I said, it’ll be up for discussion.”

“Even with your Mr. Caffrey?”

Peter froze. When he replied, he tried to keep his tone friendly. “Look, I don’t know what your investigation turned up on me, Jan, but there is one thing I will not discuss with you, and that is the nature of my and my wife’s relationship with Neal. He is my family, and that’s all you need to know. If you can’t handle that…”

Vos held his hands up, a smile on his face. “Please do not misunderstand me, Peter. Your relationships are a private matter - your family is your business. I merely wondered if they are all on board if you decide to take this position?”

Peter blinked, taken aback by Vos’ acceptance. “I still need to discuss it with them.”

“Well, if it makes it any easier, I have rather a small art collection I would like to see expanded, but I haven’t the time or the patience. Perhaps your Mr. Caffrey would enjoy a position in acquisitions, both for me personally and for the company?”

xXxXxXxXx

“Reset…reset. Power switch…is on. Channel… let’s try… two. OK…”

Elizabeth went through the instructions engraved on the plastic badge bolted to the wall above the catamaran’s emergency radio for the third time and still had no success. “What is _wrong_ with this thing?” she said in frustration, picking it up from its housing and turning it over. There were no lights to indicate it was getting any power, no sound of static indicated any sign of life. Curious, she opened the slot on the back of the thing to find that it had no batteries inside. “Oh, Bob, I’m going to murder you when I get back,” she muttered. 

Looking around, she spotted the GPS navigation system and got an idea; she popped it loose and prized off the plastic lid over its battery case. Unfortunately, it ran on AA batteries where the radio ran on D-cells. “Fuck a duck, now what?” 

A moan behind her alerted her to Neal's waking, and she replaced the nav unit hastily before returning to his side. “Sweetie?” she said, stroking his face as he roused. His eyes were open perhaps a second before she saw them cloud over with pain and he closed them tightly again. 

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” he said, his voice low, weak.

“No, it really wasn’t.”

He reached for her, and she took his hand, smiled down at him as he hugged it to his chest. “I’m glad you’re here with me, though.”

“I’m not. I wish a surgeon were here with you,” she said, and he gave a laugh that ended on a pained moan. “I have some Advil in my bag.”

“You really think that’ll work?”

“It’s better than nothing.” She leaned over him to snag the cheap Styrofoam cooler filled with soft drinks that Bob had sold them at an exorbitant price, and retrieved a bottle of water from it. Then, grabbing her purse, which she’d been keeping close at hand, she pulled the tiny bottle of OTC painkiller out and popped off the lid. “How many, do you think?”

“All of them?”

Shrugging her agreement, she shook out all that remained in the bottle – seven pills in all – and helped Neal to a slightly upright position, then let him lean into her lap. She fed him the pills and the water, letting her hand hover over it until he was done, then taking a drink for herself. “The radio’s no good – there are no batteries in it.”

He closed his eyes. “You’ll need to do it, Elizabeth, you’ll need to get us back.”

“I get that. But I also don’t know where the hell we are, Neal, and I can’t read that navigation system.”

“You can do it. I’ll help you.”

_I wish I could be sure of that,_ she thought, eyeing his blood-soaked bathing suit and looking up at the sun. 

\----

“God DAMN it!” Elizabeth shouted in frustration as the catamaran’s motor once again refused to start. She looked around angrily for something to kick, but the craft’s bright white fiberglass surfaces offered nothing that looked remotely damageable. “Damn it, damn it, _DAMN IT!!_ ”

“El.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, crouching down beside Neal.

“Don’t be – you probably flooded it – it’s easy to do with these things.”

“We need to get out of here.” She looked down on him and laid her hand beside his cheek; he was pale and sweating. “How do you feel? I mean, aside from the excruciating pain?”

He shook his head. “Dizzy. Nauseous.” 

“Shit.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Well, it’s either shock or the venom from the stinger, take your pick.”

“Shit.” His eyes fluttered closed and he seemed to wilt.

“Neal?”

“Uh huh?”

“You have to stay awake for me baby, OK?”

He nodded his agreement and then passed out again.

xXxXxXxXx

Peter glanced at his watch for the fourth time since he arrived – it was 1:20, one minute since the last time he’d checked. He stared down at his phone – still no text or message from El or Neal. They were late for their lunch date, and it was so uncharacteristic of either of them that he was immediately worried. He dialed both their phones and they went straight to voice mail – wherever they were, they were unable to answer.

“Sir? Another iced tea?” the waiter asked and Peter shook his head, rising and slipping the kid a twenty. He made his way back to the hotel’s lobby and found the concierge. “Excuse me?”

The young woman, whose nametag said her name was Marnee, and that she was originally from Minneapolis, smiled and said, “Yes, Mr. Burke?”

“Oh, you know my name?”

“It’s my business to know the names of all our VIPs, especially guests of Mr. Vos.”

“Terrific.” Peter pulled out his phone and pulled up a picture of Elizabeth and Neal. “Can you tell me if you’ve seen these two people today?”

Marnee smiled. “Yes. Mrs. Burke and Mr. Caffrey wanted to rent a boat to go snorkeling and asked for a recommendation.”

“Did you give them one?”

“I made a reservation for them at Bob’s. I’m certain they went there. Do you want directions?”

\----

“Bob’s Boat Box” was aptly named – the tiny shack from which the business operated looked barely large enough to house the proprietor himself, let alone very many patrons. 

By the time Peter arrived, he was feeling more than a little anxious about where Neal and Elizabeth might be, as they were still not answering his calls or texts, so when he walked inside, he was perhaps not feeling his friendliest. 

“How are ya?”

Peter thought Bob looked like he would be at home playing the Big Kahuna in an old Gidget movie – he was literally wearing a grass skirt over a pair of grubby cargo shorts. But his accent – Chicago if Peter wasn’t mistaken – was totally at odds with his appearance. “I’ve been better.”

“Well, let’s see if we can’t remedy dat.”

Peter showed the picture of El and Neal on his phone to the man. “I’m looking for these two – have they been in here?”

Maybe it was Peter’s clipped, authoritarian delivery, but Bob’s face seemed to go pale beneath his deep tan and he began to stammer. “Not as I can recall.”

“Really? Because they told me back at the hotel…”

“Lookit, just because they told ‘em to come here, it don’t mean they did. It’s a free country.”

Peter noticed Bob’s eyes flicker over to a shelf behind the counter that sported a rather large and impressive-looking bong. “I think you might have misunderstood me...” he began, realizing Bob had already made him for an LEO.

“No, I didn’t. Mister… what did you say your name was? Sir?”

“I didn’t. I’m just looking for…”

“Well, they weren’t here, y’know?” Peter knew Bob was lying, but he didn’t know how to get the man to realize he wasn’t there to give him a hard time. “I don’t want no trouble!”

Peter thought Bob was on the verge of a full-on rant, and raised his hands in a conciliatory fashion. “I’m not trying to cause any.”

“It ain’t my fault your old lady’s steppin’ out on ya.”

“What?”

“…so unless you got a warrant or a writ of habeas… somethin’… I know my rights!” 

“Please, they’re missing and I’m just trying to –“

“Just leave, all right? I got nothin’ for ya.”

“You’re certain you haven’t seen –“

“Positive.”

xXxXxXxXx

Elizabeth sat with Neal's head in her lap, bent over him to shade him, applying sunscreen to his face since she had nothing else to do. He’d been out for over an hour, and without his help at least navigating, there was no point in attempting to start the engine again.

She glanced down at his leg, at the obscene length of the barb protruding out of it and then looked away again quickly. What the hell was she going to do if he didn’t wake up? How was she going to get him out of here – she was literally the difference between life and death for him, and she could not fail him. 

Neal stirred, moaning, his face already scrunched up from the pain. “Shh, shh, baby,” she soothed, smoothing his hair off his face as he opened his eyes. She leaned over him, shielding his face from the sun.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “this whole thing is my fault.”

“Don’t apologize.” She leaned forward and ghosted her lips over his, then straightened up. “Survive.”

“I plan to.”

“Good, because we have _got_ to get out of here. We’re late for lunch with Peter, so let’s hope he’s already looking for us.”

“If he even knows where to begin.”

“You know that there are three things he’s really good at. Pot roast, oral sex, and finding Neal Caffrey.”

“Can’t argue with that logic.” 

\----

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, let this work,” Elizabeth breathed as she once again went through the steps to start the catamaran’s engine. Neal sat just behind her with his back against the bench seating that ran along the side of the boat, fumbling with the controls of the navigation unit.

Elizabeth pressed down on the starter, felt it catch and then falter, so she eased up on the button for a second or two until it finally turned over. “At last, you big piece of useless crap,” she said to the dashboard in general, then turned around and crouched down beside Neal. She placed a steadying hand on his trembling forearm, watching what he was doing. “Tell me that all makes sense to you?” The display and interface were a far cry from the simple Garmin she used in her car.

“Mmm,” he said by way of agreement and tried to pull himself up onto the seat behind him with his arms.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She grabbed his arm, not knowing whether to help him up or push him back down.

“I… I need…” His eyes were rolling back into his head as if he might pass out again.

“Neal?”

He closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply; when he opened them, his face had gone even paler. “I need to steer the boat onto the right…” He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. “The right heading for you. So we’re going in the right… direction. If we don’t…”

“I get it,” she said, interrupting. He didn’t have to finish that thought – if they went in the wrong direction, they’d miss the island completely, and she’d have no way of knowing it. 

“Christ, I feel like I’m gonna hurl,” Neal muttered, leaning into her more as she helped him onto the bench.

“Well, aim it that way, will you?” she said, indicating the deck of the boat, and he made a barking sound she thought might be laughter.

“Stop making me laugh,” he admonished.

“If it keeps you awake, I’ll tickle your damn ribs,” she muttered. 

A minute later, he was leaning forward, instructing her how to turn the wheel as he checked on the GPS. He showed her what readings to look for and how to operate the boat, and made her repeat it back to him, twice.

“I got it,” she said finally.

“Good, because I really, _really_ need to lie down.”

Elizabeth helped him to lie down; he hissed as his leg moved, and she said a silent prayer that none of this jostling around would damage anything further. Sitting down in the captain’s chair, she put the boat into gear and headed off in the direction Neal had indicated, wondering how much faster the thing could go and thinking how much she looked forward to kicking Bob’s ass.

xXxXxXxXx

Peter sat on a bench a short way up the pier from Bob’s Boat Box, glumly scrolling through pictures on his iPhone, trying not to think of the thousand and one things that could go wrong on a boat. He had never been one to enjoy swimming, and deep water frankly gave him the willies, ever since he was a kid and fell off his dad’s fishing boat on Cayuga Lake and nearly drowned. Sure, he could swim – he’d even been on the swim team briefly in high school – but there was a huge amount of difference between the deep end in a pool and the scary vastness of an entire ocean.

He paused on one picture of himself with Neal and Elizabeth. Neal was sitting between them, laughing, arm extended to snap the photo. It had been Neal’s birthday, and they’d all gotten a little too drunk on El’s special sangria; El was on Neal's left, grinning at Peter, who sat on the right, kissing Neal's throat, making him laugh. Peter considered himself a modern, progressive guy, but it was times like these when he wished he could keep them both locked up tight in a place where only he could go, to keep them safe from the dangers of the world. He knew he was being irrational, but when he worried he got irrational. Besides, Neal’d pick whatever locks Peter might use.

Still, they were his, and – well, that gave him an idea. 

\----

“Look, man, I already told you –“ Bob began, his voice already shrill as soon as Peter walked in the door.

“You didn’t really think I believed you, did you?” Bob merely stuck his chin out defiantly. Peter pulled out his phone. Bob eyed him as if he expected a gun to follow; Peter had locked his off-duty weapon in the room and wondered if he ought not to have gone back for it, but dismissed that idea as overkill. “I want to show you something.” Peter pulled up the pictures from Neal's birthday he’d been looking through, showing them to Bob. “I think you got the wrong idea earlier.”

“Me? I got no idears.”

“Look at this – these two people I’m looking for, the ones you rented a boat to, they’re my family, OK? See?”

Bob looked down at the picture of the three of them, then back at Peter suspiciously. Peter advanced the pictures to one of him and Neal kissing and pushed it back toward Bob, who raised an eyebrow. “I dunno. They said her husband – that you?” Peter nodded. “They said you was an FBI agent, and a crack shot.”

“Well, I am. Both of those things.”

“They said you was a bad swimmer and you’d never come out here.”

“They said…? I just don’t like swimming – it’s not that I’m bad at it.” Peter felt defensive all of a sudden. 

“Well, you know…”

“I almost drowned as a kid, you can’t blame me for being apprehensive.”

“You got that right – I got bit by a big German shepherd when I was little – you won’t see any dogs at my house.”

“See?”

“My wife don’t like it, and she teases me, but it is what it is.”

“Exactly.”

Bob regarded Peter seriously, seeming to be thinking about something. “So she’s your wife.” Peter nodded. “And he’s yer…”

“Our,” Peter corrected, “boyfriend.”

“And yer all…” Bob moved his hand vaguely and Peter hoped he wouldn’t make a homophobic comment, because he’d really hate to have to deck the guy, “… livin’ la vida loca?”

“OK.”

Bob narrowed his eyes. “Dey were making me think dey was cheatin’, you know dat?” 

“They like to play jokes. Now, how long ago were they here?”

Bob checked the clock on the wall and rubbed the back of his neck with a tanned hand. “Well, dey was s’posed to be back more’n two hours ago.”

Peter remained calm despite the cold feeling in the pit of his belly. He gripped the edge of the counter in front of him. “They were late meeting me.”

“Well, you don’t think a man rents out boats and don’t keep track of ‘em, do ya?” Bob said, pulling out an iPad and firing it up. He launched an app and leaned over the counter, sharing it with Peter. The display showed a map of the island, around which about a dozen red dots floated. “Here, dis is dem,” Bob said, tapping one of the dots. The map immediately enlarged to show the detail of where they were, overlaid atop an oceanic map. “Huh,” Bob commented.

“What?”

“Dey’re way off course – I told ‘em to go here,” he indicated an area well to their west, “But dey’re here. Dey might not have enough fuel to get back.”

“Well, what can we do?”

Bob picked up his phone. “Don’t worry, I got a brudder in the Coast Guard.”

xXxXxXxXx

When it was all over, Elizabeth would be very proud of herself for keeping her shit together as the catamaran’s engines sputtered and died on her. Mostly, she was just trying not to cry.

“El? We stopped moving?”

She retrieved a bottle of water from the cooler then knelt down on the deck of the boat and faced Neal. “We’re out of fuel.” 

“Oh.”

Elizabeth opened up the bottle of water and helped Neal take a sip. They stared at each other for several long minutes, knowing exactly what no more fuel meant. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, tears flooding his eyes again. “I shouldn’t have dragged you out here. This is all my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault.” El drew nearer to him and lay her head down atop his, check-to-cheek. She brought her hand up and began to pet his hair. “None of it matters,” she whispered in his ear. “I love you, that’s what matters.”

His hand came up and rested on her throat. “I love you, too. I’m sorry if I don’t say it enough.”

“Don’t be silly. Now shh.”

“Tell Peter… tell him too. I meant what I said – I want to be with you forever.”

She clutched at him then, trying to hold him closer, to hide her own tears. “He wants that too. But you’ll tell him yourself. You’ll tell him yourself.”

\----

“Peter Burke will always find me,” Neal said quietly.

El stirred – she was sitting on the bench seat with Neal's head in her lap and had fallen asleep. She was surprised to see that the sun was setting – she’d lost track of time. They’d been in these positions for a while, since Neal had begun to shiver and she had to cover him with the tattered and bloody remnants of her sundress. She had her hand resting on his head. “What, honey?”

“He’s coming,” Neal said.

“Yes, he will.” El had no doubt Peter would find them; she just was no longer sure it would be in time. Neal's condition was steadily getting worse, and he’d been hovering on the edge of consciousness for the last hour; whether it was due to the stinger or the shock, it no longer mattered. She feared he wouldn’t make it through the night if they were stuck out here that long.

“No, he’s here. Now. Listen.”

As if on cue, the sound of a great air horn blaring from a distance cut through the air. Elizabeth whirled around and saw a Coast Guard cutter on the horizon, making its way toward them. “It is! Oh, Neal, it is!”

She watched the ship get closer, then eased herself out from under Neal, setting his head down on the seat cushion gently, and moved to the far side of the boat and watched them come. Of course she couldn’t see anyone or anything on board, but she still imagined her husband standing at the railing, looking for them. 

As they approached, she saw a smaller, inflatable boat being lowered into the water and before long, it was motoring over to her; on board with two members of the Coast Guard and looking more than slightly seasick, was her husband. “Hi, Hon,” he said, attempting a smile, as the inflatable bounced lightly off the side of the catamaran.

“Peter,” she said, her hand in a fist in front of her mouth. He climbed over onto the catamaran and before he could even stand up straight, she saw him take in the entire scene – the blood on the deck, still wet, the splashes of it on her and her swimsuit.

“El?” he said, panic making his voice shake as he ran his hands over her, looking for injury. His eyes rose, and he say Neal lying behind Elizabeth on the bench. “No,” he said, moving to Neal's side. “No, no, no.”

El turned to follow; behind her, she could hear one of the men in the rescue boat radio for a medic and stretcher. Peter fell to his knees beside Neal, his hands on his face, in his hair. “What happened?”

“Peter,” Neal breathed, a relieved smile on his face, and he closed his eyes. “Knew you’d come.”

“I’ll always come, you know that.”

He nodded and then his face went slack as he passed out.

Peter “Hon, what happened?”

El felt suddenly like she was floating, unreal. Her voice sounded robotic in her ears. “We were snorkeling and Neal was swimming with a stingray…” she began, but Peter had already pulled the tattered dress from Neal's body and was seeing for himself. He took in the blood, and the tourniquet, and looked up.

“Oh my God, and you’ve been out here all day?” He stood and looked at her, his eyes large and full of worry.

“We tried to call for help, but the radio was… no batteries. And then the engine… no gas. It’s been a rough day, honey.”

He said no more as the medics from the Coast Guard cutter had arrived and medical supplies and a stretcher were being loaded onto the boat. They stood aside and let the men work, El feeling a kind of numbness settle over her as they assessed Neal's condition and started an IV. Peter took his jacket off and draped it around her shoulders, and she flinched as the light wool seemed so scratchy against her skin – she imagined she had one mother of a sunburn. He tried to rest his arm around her shoulders and she pulled away.

“Hon?”

“I’m sorry, Peter, not yet. If you hug me, I will lose it. I can’t lose it yet.”

He nodded and they watched as Neal was strapped to the stretcher and carried off the boat. 

\----

Elizabeth sat shivering under a light blanket in her hospital room, Peter watching her eat a plate of fruit and yogurt. She was being kept overnight to be treated for severe sunburn and dehydration; they were waiting to hear news of Neal, who was lying in the surgical recovery ward where they weren’t allowed to visit.

Peter was staring at her plate. “Keep your mitts off my mango,” she warned, but then offered it to him anyway. 

“Doc said you saved Neal's life with that tourniquet,” he said, eyeing her carefully. 

She’d been unable to talk about anything that had happened, except for what she needed to tell the hospital staff. She felt strangely disconnected from everything – from what had happened, from Peter. She wondered if this was what shock felt like. 

She shrugged. “Did what I had to,” she said, fingering the IV stuck in the back of her hand. 

“You were very brave.”

She couldn’t answer, because she didn’t know if she agreed with him. She shuddered.

“Still cold?”

“Yes,” she lied, and he went to ask the nurse for another blanket. 

An hour later, she was ashamed to feel relieved when the nurses had to gently remind Peter that visiting hours were over, and he reluctantly left her side with a kiss and promise to return with a change of clothes for her and strong Kona coffee in the morning.

“I love you,” she said as he left, and meant it, but she was just so tired. And yet sleep wouldn’t come, she was far too restless. When nature finally called – she reckoned the IV fluids must be working if she finally had to pee – she visited the bathroom in her room and then wandered out into the hall, trailing the IV stand behind her.

“Mrs. Burke?” one of the night nurses said to her when she reached the nurse’s station. “Something wrong?”

“No, I’m fine, I’m just feeling really antsy. Do you think you could look up my friend Neal Caffrey in your computer – he was brought in with me and was in surgery, and well…”

“I get it – you’re worried about him.” The nurse, whose name tag read “Amanda” and who looked to be all of about 23, clicked around on her computer until she found the information. “Says here he’s been moved to a private room on the surgical floor. I’d say that’s good news if he’s not in ICU, right?”

“That’s a relief.” She suddenly realized her hands were clenched into fists, and made an effort to unfurl them. 

“Would you like to go and peek in on him?” Amanda asked.

“Is that allowed?”

“Well, not technically, but my roommate works up there, and she’ll hook us up.

Fifteen minutes later, Amanda wheeled Elizabeth into Neal's room and parked her beside the bed. El thanked the young woman and tried to maneuver the wheelchair even closer, so she could reach Neal's hand, which lay on his belly.

He looked quiet and peaceful – if as red as a lobster from sunburn, just like her – and she noticed the large bump on his thigh where the bandages were visible, even under his blankets. She took his hand and slid hers inside it, feeling the warmth of his palm penetrate her cold fingers. 

He stirred, opened his eyes and turned to face her, a smile immediately on his lips. “Hey,” he said, his voice scratchy, “I guess we made it?” She couldn’t look at him, a sudden wave of embarrassment washing over her. “ ’lizabeth?”

“I’m sorry.” Her face would be burning red now if it wasn’t already sunburnt.

“For what?”

“I don’t know – isn’t that the crazy part?” she admitted, tears finally flooding her eyes for the first time since their rescue. “You could have died and… it scares me how scared that makes me, which makes me embarrassed for some reason. I have no explanation for it.”

“I don’t think one is required,” he said. He squeezed her hand. 

“Don’t ever leave us Neal, I don’t think I could handle it,” she said seriously.

He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled on it; when she leaned forward he dropped her hand and reached out to caress her cheek. “I promise.”

She turned her head and kissed his palm. “Good.”

xXxXxXxXx

Peter walked into Neal's room and stood in the doorway; he’d first gone to see Elizabeth and wasn’t surprised to find her bed empty – a nurse reported she’d gone up to see Neal before breakfast. The two of them were sitting on the narrow bed, El curled up in a ball at the head, applying some sort of burn ointment to Neal's face.

“I’ve noticed you keep doing that,” he was saying. “You have some sort of mothering kink?”

She smiled. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like touching you.”

The domesticity of it made Peter smile; the tender looks they were giving each other brought a tear to his eye. To think they’d almost lost each other – well, it was something he didn’t want to think about, frankly. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, catching Elizabeth’s attention.

“Hi, Hon,” she said, a huge smile on her face. He was relieved to see she looked relatively well-rested, the haunted look that had been in her eyes the night before all but gone. Neal looked up and smiled as well, and Peter’s heart gave a twinge to see those twin sets of blue eyes gazing at him with love. Was he the luckiest guy, or what?

“Whatcha got there?” Neal prompted.

Peter walked into the room with the tray of coffees and bag of pastries he’d brought. “Breakfast,” he said, setting everything down on the foot of the bed and handing out the coffees. They settled down to eat for a few minutes before Peter nudged Neal's leg and asked, “What’s the doc say?”

“No major nerve damage, but I won’t be able to travel for a couple of weeks – danger of blood clots or something.”

“I can think of worse places to recuperate,” Peter responded.

“How ‘bout you – how’d the interview go?”

Peter blinked – his meeting with Vos seemed to have been an age ago. “God, I almost forgot about it. He says the job’s mine if I want it. I told him I’d have to talk about it with my family.” He was sure to look them both in the eyes when he said it.

“Family, that’s nice,” Neal said, and El laid her head on his shoulder with a smile. 

“Yep. Great minds think alike,” Elizabeth said.

Peter frowned, not knowing what she was talking about. 

She smiled at his confusion. “Yesterday, Neal had something he wanted to talk to us about, when we were so rudely interrupted by a fish.”

“Oh?”Peter looked at Neal, who took a deep breath before speaking. 

“What are you two doing for the rest of your lives?”

\----

Thank you for your time.

**Author's Note:**

> * OK, now, here’s [a picture of the type of stingray spine](http://emigratetonewzealand.wordpress.com/2010/01/28/canadian-tourist-matt-brazeau-injured-in-another-stingray-backlash/) Neal had in him. WARNING for extreme squick. Seriously, don’t click through and then whinge to me about it.  
> * Title is a lyric from the Radiohead song, “Lucky” that is wholly unremarkable when you read it, except for the way Thom Yorke sings it – it has always stuck in my mind, and I’m happy to finally use it. The song is on “OK Computer” – go give it a listen.  
> * In case it’s not obvious, I know next to nothing about boats. Just go with it.   
> * Many thanks to Miri Thompson for the hand-holding and plot-figuring-out assistance, and to Elrhiarhodan for all her patience while I was working it all out; srsly – she had to look at a lot of squicky pix o’ stingray injuries!


End file.
